


Furthermore

by 796116311389



Series: Vial #35 [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breastfeeding, Breasts, Humor, Lingerie, Love Confessions, M/M, Milking, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 22:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/796116311389/pseuds/796116311389
Summary: Sherlock was happy to report he was no longer insatiably randy.John was just happy.***********You don'thaveto read the first story to read this. Just know that Sherlock has breasts.





	Furthermore

**Author's Note:**

> If something needs to be tagged let me know. I literally had no idea how to tag this properly.

They're must have been something in Sherlock's breast milk, because they had sex four more times after John's stomach settled, before they were finally spent in every sense of the word. 

Waking up after that wild night was a bit surreal as well. Sherlock's breasts had stopped leaking milk, but they were still there.

Sherlock was happy to report he was no longer insatiably randy. 

John was just happy.

They eventually got out of bed. Sherlock hopped into the shower and John went to go make them a hearty breakfast. 

He was nearly done when he heard Sherlock give a shout of frustration. He turned down the heat on the hob and headed to Sherlock's room to see what was troubling the other man.

He pushed open Sherlock's bedroom door to the comical sight of Sherlock trying impossibly to button his already too tight shirts over his now considerably larger chest area. 

John began laughing and Sherlock glared at him before demanding John get one of his older outsized vests. 

John complied and Sherlock still barely got it over his chest. 

John finished cooking breakfast and sat down with Sherlock. They ate in silence for a few moments until Sherlock suddenly announced that he had some errands to run. 

John, of course, was surprised given Sherlock's obvious new condition. 

"Like that?"

"Obviously not John. I'll wear my coat. It's cold outside."

"No, I meant with your chest looking like that."

Sherlock looked down at his breasts. "Looking like what?" He looked back up at John and cocked an eyebrow. 

John just sighed, "Nevermind."

And with that Sherlock took three more bites and abruptly declared himself done. Then he twirled on his coat and rushed out of the flat.

John finished Sherlock's breakfast and did the dishes. 

************

Six hours later Sherlock clatters back up the stairs and to his room.

John catches a glimpse of what looks like bags and bags of items in Sherlock's arms. John is curious, but figures Sherlock will show him what he bought if he wants John to know. 

*************

However, now, standing at a crime scene with Sherlock, he really wishes he had asked what Sherlock had bought when he went out earlier.

John stares at Sherlock where he is bent over the dead body Lestrade has asked Sherlock to look at.

Specifically, John is staring at Sherlock's rather generous cleavage and the cherry red bra clearly holding his breasts under his white blouse. 

If John had known what Sherlock had bought he might have had a chance to intervene before every officer in the yard was also staring at Sherlock's cleavage and clothing choice. 

"Every single officer staring at my breasts right now is liable for sexual harassment." Sherlock suddenly announces without looking up from what he's doing. 

John averts his eyes and notices every officer within view do the same, including Lestrade. 

"Except you, John. You may continue to stare."

John looks back at Sherlock and turns as red as the bra. "I-uh-"

Sherlock looks up at John and cuts him off, "Please don't bother denying it. We both know how much you like them." 

John sqawks unattractively at Sherlock's announcement.

Sherlock gives a sly smile, looks back to the body, and says lightly, "Besides, you're adorable when you're distracted by me."

John purses his lips and narrows his eyes at Sherlock, "Now you're just taking the piss."

"Maybe, maybe not."

John gives a huff and starts to respond, but is cut off by Lestrade clearing his throat.

"Um, sorry to interrupt the lover's quarrel, but why does Sherlock have, uh, breasts?"

Sherlock closes his magnifying glass sharply, stands and folds his arms under his breasts. "Are they a problem, inspector?" 

Lestrade visibly loses his train of thought and stares a moment at Sherlock's chest before shaking his head and pointedly looking at Sherlock's face. "Look I don't care what kinky stuff you and John get up to at home, but, yes, you probably should have taken those off before you showed up. They're distracting my team."

Three things happen at once:

John doubles over with laughter at the look on Sherlock's face as Lestrade suggests he take his breasts off. 

Lestrade jumps at the sound of John loudly and racously laughing. 

Sherlock unbuttons his shirt a couple more buttons and unclasps the front of his bra, letting his breasts fall free. "Please tell me how exactly I should have left these at home."

"Oh God!" Lestrade exclaims while covering his face and looking away.

John chokes on his laughter and rushes to Sherlock and pulls the man's jacket closed to cover his exposed breasts. 

"Jesus Sherlock! You can't just do that!"

Sherlock pulls his head back and looks at John with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me? Of course I can do that. I could do it yesterday and I can do it today as well. It's still my chest."

John tries not to focus on how he can feel the soft form of Sherlock's chest under the jacket and tries to explain to Sherlock why it's a problem. "Yes, but now it's different. Just trust me. You can't do that."

Sherlock pulls himself out of John's grip, fixes his bra, and does up his shirt, "Seems rather antiquated of you John." Then walks off the crime scene in a huff.

John gives a heaving sigh and watches him go. Lestrade sidles over and looks between Sherlock's retreating form and John. "So, uh, Sherlock has breasts now? Like proper centerfold breasts?" 

"Yeah."

"Ah. Okay. Do you want to grab a pint? I'm done here and I'm off in an hour. I can meet you there?" 

John nods slowly. "Yeah. Usual place. I'll go get a head start."

Lestrade watches as John walks off slightly in a daze.

************

The pub was a good idea John thinks to himself. He's much more relaxed now and ready to face Sherlock.

He walks up the stairs to 221B and into the sitting room.

And is met by the sight of Sherlock in another lingerie outfit. This outfit is outlandish and subtle all at once. Sherlock's legs are covered in fishnet stockings up to his mid thigh where the stockings are held up by little black bowed garters attached to the smallest pair of knickers he's ever seen. Across Sherlock's belly are lengths of fringe from the bottom of Sherlock's bra which is fighting to contain his breasts which, if possible, look bigger then they had earlier. 

Sherlock is lounging in his chair one leg artfully thrown over the side causing his legs to be spread wide giving John a full view of Sherlock from his very erect satin covered cock to his barely contained breasts. 

John can only gape at the way the black satin clothes contrast with Sherlock's pale skin creating the ultimate tease.

He amends his earlier thought. Nothing could have prepared him for this. 

"Good evening John." Sherlock's voice is impossibly deep and husky and John is simply too stunned to speak. 

Sherlock looks at John expectantly.

John just keeps staring awkwardly, mouth open, ogling the sight before him.

"John?" 

John walks over to his chair and plops down. 

"Oh for God's sake John, you're making me feel ridiculous." Sherlock sits up and frowns at John, who finally realizes he's staring and shuts his mouth with a click.

"Uh. Sorry. It's just, uh, you. You look. Wow." John manages to choke out. All of the blood he'd usually have used to think having rushed down south. "Are your breasts bigger?"

That was not the question John had wanted to ask.

But it is one he'd really like the answer to.

Sherlock gives him a smirk and leans forward towards John squeezing his breasts together causing the fabric to soak.

"I had some more tea with vial #35 in it."

John snaps out of his lustful haze for a moment. "You had more of vial 35 without me here? What would have happened if you'd had an adverse reaction? Jesus, Sherlock. You can't just take weird liquids and down them without someone watching you."

Sherlock throws his hands up and flops back in his chair, "You were headed home. Clearly it doesn't have an _adverse_ effect. I wanted to surprise you. Can you please stop ruining the moment?"

"Ruining the moment?"

"Yes, John, ruining the moment. I get all dressed up like this and lie down in my chair all sexy-like and you come in and have sex with me. _The moment._ "

"Uh hunh...You know you can just ask me for sex, right?"

"Don't be absurd. You wouldn't agree to sex with me unless you were overwhelmed with lust. Ergo, the outfit and the breasts."

John shakes his head and leans towards Sherlock. "Sherlock. Me wanting to have sex with you isn't entirely dependent on what your wearing or what body parts you have. I _do_ like you for you."

"You never expressed a desire to sleep with me until last night when I suddenly developed breasts." 

"That had more to do with you suddenly begging for me to fuck you then with you suddenly having quite lovely breasts. Quite honestly if you had begged me to have sex with you before the breasts I would've said yes."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Fascinating." Sherlock sits up in his chair and leans towards where John is leaning towards him. "Then in that case, will you take me to the bedroom John and please fuck me?" 

"Oh God yes."

They rush to Sherlock's bedroom, both of them quite eager to explore each other's bodies again. 

John steps in after Sherlock and shuts the door behind them. 

Sherlock crawls up onto his bed and turns to face John, his lips red, plump, and parted. "Take your clothes off for me John."

How can John deny this man anything?

He slowly, but perfunctorily removes his clothes, hardly breaking eye contact with Sherlock. 

Sherlock licks his lips as John reveals his skin, until he is finally down to just his pants. John stops just a moment to appreciate the comparison between them. 

Him naked as the day he was born and Sherlock barely covered in his lingerie, yet somehow still more obscene for what John can't see. 

John groans and feels his cock flex in need. He needs to touch, but somehow he knows Sherlock is in charge of this scenario. Sherlock is the one to decide how this will go. 

And, God, John is so willing to let him. To give into anything for him. 

God, he loves this man. 

The thought makes him whimper and John is shocked and pleased to see Sherlock visibly turned on by his desperation. 

Sherlock rolls onto his back and slips his panties off, "John. Come here and straddle me."

John climbs onto the bed and then over Sherlock's body. John can feel his heart beating super hard and can see Sherlock's own carotid racing. 

"Tell me what you want Sherlock. Tell me what to do."

Sherlock gives a low groan and then in a deep voice, husky with arousal, says, "I want you to ride me John and then when I'm close I'm going to flip you over and pound into you hard until I come, but you won't. Not until I let you."

John felt like his head was in a fog, all he could do was groan. He wanted that. He wanted.

Sherlock grabbed his tube of lube from his nightstand and slicked up his cock. He then held it with one hand while guiding John by the hips with his other back down onto his cock. 

John felt it as Sherlock's blunt head pressed against his hole. Slowly he pressed down as Sherlock pressed up. So slowly it was agonizing. John wanted to press down quick and hard, but Sherlock had his hands on his hips preventing him from doing just that. 

Slowly, centimeter by centimeter John feels himself being filled by the girth of Sherlock. His own cock rests between them, rock hard and slowly dribbling precome. After what feels like an eternity, John can feel himself seated flush on Sherlock. 

John opens his eyes, not realizing he had shut them and looks down at Sherlock. Sherlock is wet with sweat from the exertion of controlling himself, his eyes half lidded and his lips pinked and swollen. John lets his gaze drift lower to the straining black bra Sherlock is still wearing. It barely covers Sherlock's peaked nipples, the fabric soaked with the milk he's been producing nonstop. 

He looks back up to Sherlock and asks breathlessly, "May I?"

Sherlock gives a nod and John leans down to nibble at Sherlock's left nipple through the fabric while his right hand pinches the other. The fabric must feel so rough over them. 

Sherlock makes a low sound deep in his throat as John teases his nipples and John feels it as Sherlock slowly starts to slide out of him. 

John slips the little patch of fabric to the side and starts to lick and suckle as Sherlock starts to slide back up into him. 

Soon John is taking pulls of milk from Sherlock's breast in time with the slide of Sherlock's cock in and out of him.

Their synchronicity is hypnotising and beyond erotic for John, almost more so then the act itself. John feels as if he's no longer in control of his body. He is Sherlock's to do with as he pleases. It's heady and subsuming. 

He is no longer himself but an extension of Sherlock's pleasure. 

"John. _John._ Give me your mouth." Sherlock demands.

John complies before Sherlock can finish asking. He's kissing Sherlock. Open mouthed and messy, panting. 

"Oh God. John you taste of my milk."

And with that Sherlock flips John over and as promised begins to thrust in and out of John quickly and roughly. His rythym is erratic but his pace is constant. 

John is keening. The feeling of Sherlock's soft breasts and the delicate fringe of his bra against his back while the man's cock breaches him, stretches him over and over again, is so contradictory and, _fuck_ , hot, that John feels himself at the edge of coming. 

But Sherlock said _no_. John let's out a cry, a whine, and a sob all at once.

Sherlock let's out a ragged moan at the sound, pumping twice more as he comes inside John. He shudders and breathes a moment.

John expects Sherlock to pull out of him, but he doesn't. He leans back and pulls John with him, his cock still inside John, softening. 

Sherlock breathes heavy by John's ear, "I want to feel your orgasm."

John sits impaled on Sherlock's lap and can feel tears coming to his eyes as Sherlock relentlessly strokes his cock with one hand and his nipples with the other. He's so stimulated. It's a painful pleasure.

He can feel Sherlock half hard inside of him, ejaculate slowly seeping out. The almost too rough feel of Sherlock's hand on his cock, lubed by only his own prejaculate. And finally, the feel of Sherlock's violin callused hands stroking and pinching his nipples. 

Then Sherlock whispers into his ear, " _Come, John._ "

And John sees stars. 

He's pretty positive he even blacks out for a second. It feels as if it goes on for ages and yet at the same time it's over too quickly. 

His body is loose and he feels Sherlock lay him down and finally slip out of his body. They lie together, John panting and Sherlock pressing gentle kisses to the back of John's neck. 

They lie like this for a while, until their skin has cooled and their sweat has dried. Until Sherlock decides to break the silence.

"John? Can I ask you a question?"

John frowns to himself a moment, "Yeah...usually you'd just ask me. What is it?"

John can feel Sherlock press closer to him and hide his face in John's shoulder. 

"Are we in a relationship now?"

John rolls over and faces Sherlock. He wants Sherlock to see him as he speaks. 

"Sherlock, we're already more or less in a relationship. We're just finally acknowledging it. I've been gone on you since the day we met."

Sherlock gives John an affronted look, "Why on earth did you never say anything?"

"Because you said you were married to your work and disdain anything romantic."

"Oh. Well I suppose you have a point."

"But that doesn't matter now, because now we have each other in our arms and we both know how the other feels."

"I haven't actually said I liked you."

"It's a given." John deadpans. 

"Still. I haven't said and I would like to let you know John that I've been in love with you since the first time we met as well."

John smiles softly and kisses Sherlock. 

Together they fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. So I'm avoiding writing Home so I decided to update this. Next time someone's pregnant and I'm playing so fast and loose with the universe rules that I'm not sure who yet lol.


End file.
